


there's nowhere we can hide

by lacecat



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi, does not follow comic, set after 2x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 01:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6353815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Karen's life changes, Frank comes back, they don't talk about it, and they're on the run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shades of Grey

**Author's Note:**

> (title from "demons" by imagine dragons)  
> beginning of the story, will update pretty soon/regularly! testing out this ship that I have fallen in the fandom trashcan for

It was in a high-end kitchen appliance store that it first happened. 

It had been the weekend before Foggy’s birthday, and Karen had dug up an old recipe on making cake, figuring that she would surprise him at his new office at HC & B (which she had on good knowledge would soon include Nelson as well). 

She had entered the store that Saturday afternoon, slipping between an old Asian couple who were arguing over the cost of the fancy spatulas kept in the front window, and a dark-haired man in an apron who was searching through the carefully arranged rack of wine glasses.

Between casserole dishes and frying pans, Karen was floored at the sudden wave of nostalgia for her life before moving to Hell’s Kitchen. The back of her neck felt clammy, and she moved to wipe the small beads of sweat off her skin. Above her head, the bright lights of the store seemed to pulse slightly, and as Karen Page stared at the price for a small non-stick sauce pan, (79.95 retail price, high quality with lid), a memory prickled to the front of her mind.

Her mother, pushing her and her brother in a cart to the store, looking through the pans like Karen was right at this moment. Karen had reached out to the racks of wine glasses, and her small coat sleeve snagging on the stem of a goblet and pushing it off the shelf. She flinched at the high-pitched sound of the glass breaking, the small bits of glass splintering all over the hardwood floor. 

Her mother had only lightly scolded her, taking out her wallet to pay for the damages, but Karen felt bright shame flicker on the back of her neck, that her mother had taken her eyes off of her for one minute and she had already destroyed something, broken something beyond repair, and the tiny pieces of glass glittered from the wooden floor- 

The air around her grew hot, and she suddenly felt eyes on the back of her head. But before she could whirl around, a voice came from beside her. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”

Belatedly, Karen realized that she was clutching the edge of the shelf with too much force, her knuckles white around the edge of the shelf. She forced herself to loosen her grip, uncurled her fingers, turning to face the man. His face, worried, was slightly unfocused, and Karen forced herself to look into his eyes. 

“Yes. Sorry, I need to go-” she pushed out, her words too thick on her tongue. “Sorry.”

As she pushed by him, exiting the store, barely noticing the still-arguing couple, she stole a quick glance to the rest of the store. The aisles were empty, strange for a Saturday afternoon. As Karen walked out onto the street, her purse clutched underneath her arm, she couldn’t understand the feeling that lingered, that there had been someone else in the store, watching her among the light refracting off of the clear glasses. 

\--------

Six months ago, Matt had sat her down in the office, and held out the Daredevil helmet, his hands firm around the small red horns- how stupid could she be, that she didn’t realize until that moment that of course, of course it was him, the bruises, the cuts- and Karen had suddenly understood that she was not in love with Matthew Murdock. 

Sure, she loved him, probably would always love him, but her mix of emotions wasn’t that she was in love with him and in denial about it. Frank Castle had once said that she should take that sort of love and hold onto it with both hands, to not let it go, but Karen knew that she didn’t have to clutch onto her relationship with Matt, that it would only end with unhappiness. 

And that’s what she told Matt right after he revealed to her, in that dark office, and there had been a glimmer of something in his eyes, heartbreak, grief, relief- she wasn’t sure. But he had nodded, and Karen had bit her lip and walked by him, leaving him in the office, leaving him. 

That night in her apartment, she drank an entire bottle of red wine, curled up on the ragged brown couch and listening to the radio. But no tears spilled from her eyes, not even as the bitter, melancholic sound of Springsteen filtered in through a staticky radio station. 

Even though she knew that she had to break up with Matt for good, to get them both out of the limbo that their relationship had been in since he and Foggy had their falling out, her chest hurt, and the wine had soothed the pain so she fell asleep in a jumble of limbs, still in her work clothes.

The next day, Karen disposed of the wine bottle, slightly hungover, and went to the Bulletin to sign the paperwork for her new job. 

She didn’t think much of the fact that somehow, as she slept, a blanket had been draped over her frame, but she chalked it up to the fact that she was drunk and probably didn’t remember getting up to get it. 

\---------

“Karen?” Ellison pushed his head into Ben’s office- her office, it was her office now- “Are you busy?” 

Karen pushed back her keyboard, picking up her coffee to make room. “I was just doing some research about that robbery on 87th the other day, but it can wait.”

The man nodded, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. She watched as he sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “There might be something for you to look into. Have you ever heard of Bullseye?”

Karen frowned, taking a sip of her coffee. “No, is he a new vigilante?”  
Ellison ran a hand over the top of his head. “I wish. He’s a new player in the crime scene, extortionist and assassin supposedly. My sources tell me there are rumors he’s ex-NSA, and he’s been in and out of prison several times.”

“Several times?”   
He nodded. “We’re looking at a major player in the making. DA wants his head on a stick, but he’s staying public. No mask, yet no one’s caught him yet. God, it’s like six months ago all over again.” 

“So what, we go digging? Try to figure out what his next moves are going to be?” 

“Page, are you asking to be killed? No, I was thinking an expose, a feature focus on the new player sort of deal. The public loves to hear about the new bad guys. Ever since the Punisher- er, Mr. Castle- there’s been a wave of interest in trying to see what ticks behind his head. A method to the madness, if you will.” 

Her back stiffened involuntarily. “What Frank Castle went through was an exception. What you’re suggesting is that I find some sort of way to redeem this guy. This Bullseye, he’s an alleged assassin you say?”  Ellison had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Yes. I thought, given your proximity to the Castle case-” 

Karen stood up suddenly, surprising both herself and Ellison. The editor rose to meet her gaze. “Mr. Ellison, with all due respect, I don’t see why you’re giving this story to me. Why not Robertson or Hendricks? Or Taylor?” 

The look on his face turned contemplative. “Because they’re fine reporters, but none of them have your tenacity. Honestly, Karen, you’ve got the skills to get the information to make the story. You also know Mr. Nelson, from HC & B, correct?” 

“I do, what does Foggy have to do with the case?”

“If I’m not mistaken Mr. Nelson was Bullseye’s legal representative to get him out on parole a few weeks ago. You might want to start there.” 

\------------

That afternoon, she brought her cake (store bought after all, following a frustrating attempt to follow the recipe, but Karen figured that Foggy would appreciate the gesture anyways) to the law office where he worked. 

Foggy made a happy sound in the back of his throat as soon as he saw her. “Karen, you’re my favorite, I needed this after what happened to the absolute shit case I’ve been working on, especially if that is Black Forest cake I see,” he said, taking the offered cake and beckoning her into his office with a tilt of his head. 

Karen smiled. “What, you’re actually on a case? I thought you were done with that, now that you have your fancy job and corner office, you can just delegate the work to your minions,” she said, taking a seat in the corner. “Mr. Nelson, of the soon to be HCB & N, I mean.” 

He rolled his eyes dramatically, opening the cake box. “Hey, just because I’m making bank now doesn’t mean I’ve given up the hard work! Besides, that’s rich coming from you, up-and-coming reporter Ms. Page!” 

“Hey, I brought you Black Forest and everything. Besides, I’m a reporter, I’m not exactly doing it for the money.” 

Foggy snorted through a mouthful of cake. “That’s true. So are you here purely for a social visit or have you come to extort me like the relentless investigator you are?” 

She gave a small chuckle, pulling a notepad of her bag. “You caught me, I do have some questions. Have you heard of Bullseye?”

Foggy’s eyes bulged slightly, and he swallowed his cake quickly. “Damn it, Karen. I would’ve thought that Matt would have asked me about it first- ah, damn, sorry,” he said apologetically, “I know it must be rough to talk about him-”

Karen smiled slightly, pushed her hair to the side. “Foggy, don’t worry about it, you don’t have to avoid talking about Matt behind me. It’s old history by now,” she reassured him. “We’ve been broken up for a while now.” 

Foggy only looked slightly more appeased, but his eyes went round with worry. “Please tell me you’re not going after Bullseye. We just got him out on parole, and sure, the DA’s got nothing on him, but please, Karen, he is not a good man.” 

A wry grin formed on her face. “Foggy, I can handle myself. Besides, I’m not looking for trouble. I’m just going to get his side of the story.” 

The lawyer stared at her flatly. “Gee, I’ve never heard those words said just before catastrophic events happen.” 

\------

The bar was seedy, dark, and was with practically humming with the air of criminal activity. The electric blue sign behind the bar thrummed, and Karen pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. 

While Karen was no stranger to Josie’s, which was securely in the category of a dive bar, this bar was unfamiliar, its pale lights a stark contrast to the warm, albeit dim backdrop of Josie’s. The bartender, who had a bleached strip of hair running past his ear into an intricate tattoo starting at the side of his neck, had stared at her with an intensity that Karen felt wasn’t deserved of an order of a beer on tap. 

Taking a sip of her beer, grimacing slightly (she would always be a wine sort of person), Karen turned to face the rest of the bar, adjusting her skirt on the stool. Foggy had suggested that this bar was a favored spot of Bullseye- or Lester, or Benjamin Poindexter, or whatever name he was going by- and that if Karen waited long enough, she would get to meet the man in person. “Unfortunately, I think he’s got a thing for blondes”, Foggy said bluntly, and Karen tried not to squirm. 

Around her, music thrummed from the dusty speaker on the corner of the bar, the bass turned up a little too much so it had a heavy buzzing quality to it. As Karen took another sip, the strap of her dress sticking to her shoulder, she again had the strange feeling that she was being watched. 

Trying to inconspicuously look around, Karen put her empty bottle on the counter and began to stand up, but then a heavy hand fell on the small of her back. She tensed, ready to throw some creep away, but then-

“Stay in your seat,” a familiar, gravely voice intoned just behind your ear, and Frank fucking Castle moved to sit next to her at the bar, his brow furrowed as he turned to look her directly in the eye. 

Karen couldn’t help the incredulous sound that came from her mouth. “Frank-” 

He ducked his head, which to any observer would look like a casual gesture, but Karen could see his eyes dart to behind her shoulder. “Ma’am.”

“Just what exactly are you doing in a place like this?” she hissed, moving closer to him. 

Frank looked back at her. “I could ask you the same, ” he said, a slight quirk to his mouth. “I thought that other bar was more to your tastes.” 

Before she could come up with a retort, the bar suddenly fell quiet, and Frank’s entire body tensed up. “Page, you need to leave.” 

Karen turned to see what he was looking at, ignoring Frank, just in time to see a man come from the back, headed towards the bar. Karen had no doubt in that moment that this was the man she was looking for. 

The man stopped, several stools down from her and Frank, pulling off his hat to reveal- Christ, is that carved in his forehead?- several circles in growing size on his skull. His eyes, slightly manic, flickered down the bar, looking at Karen up and down, and finally looking at Frank behind her. Behind her, Frank stiffened even more, his arm coming to clasp Karen’s. “Karen, get out of here-” 

The man gave a loud laugh, eerie in the sudden quiet of the bar. “Is that the Punisher? It’s like ’06 all over.” 

Around them, people began to file out of the bar, and Karen could still feel Frank’s grip on her forearm. He made a low sound in his throat. “Bullseye.”

The man laughed again. “And who’s your girlfriend? Damn, thought you were a family man, Frank-” 

Karen barely blinked before a snarl ripped out of Frank’s throat, and he pushed Karen aside, launching himself at Bullseye. 

She gave a shout, falling off the stool onto the ground. and quickly grabbed for the gun in her purse. Around the battling duo, the bartender quickly dove beneath the bar with a shotgun, but with a flick of his wrist, Bullseye sent a small metal piece into the man’s eye. Horrified, Karen watched the bartender collapse, and Frank landed a punch into the other man’s abdomen, his teeth already stained with blood. 

Bullseye threw Frank on top of the bar, dodging another punch, and smashed a bottle into Frank’s face. His eyes were wild, and he pulls out a knife, over Frank’s throat, “Yeah, that’s right, try and-” 

and Karen cocked the gun, fired twice, and blood bloomed in the man’s jacket. 

Frank sat up, somewhat unsteadily, as Bullseye partly turned, shocked, his dark eyebrows lifted as his eyes rolled in the back of his head, and then he collapsed in the empty bar. 

Karen’s hands didn’t shake. 

The glass falls, breaking into pieces on the ground, but she doesn’t pay attention to it. 

\------------

Afterwards, it’s more of a blur. Frank gets off the bar, over the broken glass and Bullseye’s body, and takes the gun out of her hands. Then they’re in a car, and Karen sees Frank looking at her out of the corner of her eye, and she’s firmly staring at the road in front of them, and they’re on the highway now, and then they’re in a motel, and Frank’s pushing her to one of the small beds, and she lies down, and lets darkness sweep over her.

Only Frank stays awake, from the armchair in the corner of the room, watching her chest move up and down, and puts a blanket over her.

\----------

It’s in the middle of the morning when Karen wakes up, still in her dress and high heels from last night. Frank’s opposite of her in the motel room, cleaning his gun. He’s wearing a clean white tank top, and Karen watches the muscles in his arms flex, his jaw tense, as he reloads the gun. 

She sits up, and Frank doesn’t move, probably knew that she was awake. She makes it to the bathroom, where she washes off her makeup, taking off her shoes, and ties her hair up into a loose bun. Cleaning the grime off of her body, and she wonders if Frank is still covered in blood that is not his. 

Coming out of the bathroom, Frank meets her eye, and she can’t read the expression on his face. “Page.”

She sits on the bed opposite of him. “Frank.” 

The expression on his face shifts, almost imperceptibly, but Karen knows him. He’s angry. “You shouldn’t have shot him.”

Something tightens in her chest. “That’s rich, coming from you,” she snaps. “He was going to kill you-”   
“And I would have killed him,” Frank says, his tone just slightly too even. “Do you know what you’ve done?”    
Karen sits back, smooths her dress over her lap. “I saved your life. I would do it again.” Strangely enough, this time is different than the first time she shot a man. She’s not in the shower, right now, trying to scrub her hands, tears streaming down her face, her chest too tight to breathe.

She’s sitting on the pale orange bedspread, her mind clear, in front of a man who has far more blood on his hands. It’s the most alive she’s felt in months. She’s knocked over another glass, but there’s no hot flush of shame. 

Frank’s face tightens. “It was my battle. Bullseye, he was out on parole. It doesn’t look good for you.” 

“I’ll plead guilty. Self defense. I’ll probably be in jail for a few years. No one’s going to dare identify you from that bar, so we won’t be associated.” 

His fist slams down on the table, startling her. “Damn it, Karen. You don’t understand. You- you shouldn’t be there. You’re not a criminal.”

She rises, and he doesn’t get up from the chair. “Page-”  
Before he can finish his sentence, she hits him in the chest. “You fucker.” 

His dark eyes look up at her, more questioning than hurt. She hits him again. “I shot a man last night. I killed him.” 

He stands too, and she’s aware of their height difference, especially since she’s not wearing heels, and his eyes are blazing. “You’re not a bad person. You’re good, too good, and I shouldn’t have come up to you in the bar-” 

and Karen reads between the words, hits him in the chest again. “You don’t get to say that to me,” she says, quiet, dangerous. “You don’t get to tell me I’m a good person. I killed a man- I’ve killed two men, in fact. Sure, maybe in a court I’ll be fine, but I can’t have you- fuck, I can’t have you hold me on some pedestal. I thought you would understand. I thought you were the only one to understand, that I’m not all good, there’s darkness in me, I thought you understood-” 

and it speaks volumes to their relationship that as the tears start to form in her eyes, as she realizes that she won’t be able to go back to her small apartment, that ragged brown couch, to the Bulletin, to see Foggy or even Matt- that he is able to catch her as she falls against his chest, and if as she’s crying, there are wet tears on the top of her head too, she won’t mention it. 

And maybe that’s why she was never in love with Matt. Matthew Murdock, Daredevil, her once-boyfriend, thought she was good, that Karen Page would never kill a man, that she was honest, and sees the world in black and white. 

She’s in love with Frank Castle, because he sees the dark in her. Because she’s a shade of grey, and he’s a shade of grey, and she’s in love with him.


	2. stranger things have happened

That evening, they find themselves in a small, greasy spoon type diner. At the bottom of one of the laminated, green piping-edged menus, Karen discovers that they’re in Delaware, far beyond the lights of Hell’s Kitchen, of the city, of New York. 

She gives a small huff. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in Pennsylvania before.” 

Frank looks up at her, expressionless. “Philadelphia’s all right.” He sounds so mundane, so earnest, for that moment that Karen can’t help the laugh that comes out of her chest. Frank gives a small smile, dipping his head back to the menu. 

The waitress comes by, Frank orders black coffee and a slice of pie and Karen gets a burger and a cup of tea. As they wait for their food, Frank stares out the window, but Karen looks at him, knowing that he’s also listening for suspicious sounds, always analyzing, watching, waiting for an attack. 

When their food comes, their eyes meet, and Karen breaks eye contact first. She thinks of the words unsaid between them- how last time, before the bar, in the woods of an old man, as he stood illuminated by the light of that shed, she had told him that he was dead to her. 

(She thinks of how he held her earlier, and knows that she can’t bring up whatever it is between them, their relationship, not now.)

Frank sips the coffee, and he’s the one to break the silence. “We needed to get over state lines,” he says, quiet. 

Karen stirs her cup of tea, daring to ask, “Where are we going?” 

“I have a safe house set up. No one will find you there.”

“Are you going back?” 

“I need to do damage control. Find the shitbags who double-crossed me.” 

It suddenly occurs to Karen that she still doesn’t know why he was in the Bronx bar in the first place. “What were you doing there?” 

Frank smirks around the rim of his mug. “You sure ask a lot of questions, ma’am, no wonder you’re a bigshot reporter now.” 

Karen just barely resists rolling her eyes. “You didn’t answer.”   
More serious, Frank sets down the cup, looking at her dead in the eye. “I was following you.” 

She can’t help the indignant sound that emerges from her mouth. “Why the hell were you following me? I’m not some helpless little girl, if that’s what you think!”   
He keeps eye contact, and Karen keeps staring at him, not willing to break. “I know that. But I knew that you were coming after Bullseye, in that bar. And you were nowhere near ready for a confrontation with him, not with that little piece in your bag. I overstepped, but I was doing what needed to be done.”

“How did you know?” 

“Page, your articles have put away quite a few players in the last six months. Bullseye was a comeback, it didn’t take too much to put two and two together and know you were going after him.”   
“How long were you following me?” 

At that question, Frank broke eye contact, looking down at his plate. “A couple weeks.” 

Of course. “Well, that explains a lot.” 

He doesn’t answer, just in time for the waitress to come back with her burger. She eats as he continues to look out the smudged window.

\------------

Back at the motel, Frank insists on “equipping” her with several handguns. “It’s possible that someone from the bar followed us, one of Bullseye’s goons,” he gruffly informs her, handing her one of the (many) guns he has laid out on the table. 

Karen levels a flat gaze at him when he turns away. “Like you would miss someone following us for a hundred miles.” 

The edges of Frank’s lips curl up, but he packs the rest of the guns into a dirty duffle bag and leads her out back to the car. “Stranger things have happened.” 

She raises her eyebrows at him from above the car, him at the driver’s side. “Mr. Castle, are you suggesting that you’re not as skeptical as we all believe?”

The soft smile on Frank’s face catches her off guard. “Ms. Page, I’ve seen some pretty strange things.” 

As they drive away from the motel, Karen turns on the radio, and they listen in amicable silence to Lou Reed croon for a few minutes before she turns to him. She thinks of the last time they talked in a diner, his face protected from being illuminated by soft yellow light with a dark cap, hiding bruises and cuts. 

Now’s a good as a time as ever. “You know that I broke up with Matt?” 

He doesn’t look over at her, but his hands shift slightly on the steering wheel. “Why did you give up on the lawyer?”

Karen raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t give up on him. He lied to me,”

He gives a huff. “So you found out about Red’s pastimes, then.” 

“Yes. Well, that and the fact that I still couldn’t tell him about the man.” The man I killed.

At that, he gives her a sharp look, perhaps surprised by her forwardness. “Page, am I the only one you’ve told?” At her nod, he sighs, turning to look at the road once more. “You don’t keep that shit to yourself. Not you.”

“Maybe I couldn’t find the person to say anything too. I mean, you know Matt, he wouldn’t understand.” He hasn’t killed like us. 

“He would’ve forgiven you.” He signals, merging into another lane. 

“Maybe I didn’t want to be forgiven.” 

Frank barely moves, but she notices a fleeting expression on his face, too fast for her to process. “Well, he’s a dumbass, then.”

They spend the rest of the ride listening to the oldies station, Frank turning up the radio once to catch the end of Stevie Wonder.

\-----------

The safe house, as it turns out, is in the middle of a small city. It’s a decrepit-looking brownstone, with someone passed out on the stoop, but as Frank walks up the stairs once they’re inside, Karen sees that no one would guess to find them here. She turns on the light once they’re inside the apartment, and is surprised to see that it’s relatively well-furnished. 

The walls, though bare, have been recently painted, and there’s a soft-looking blue carpet on the ground. There’s a futon with a slightly dusty red blanket thrown over it, a small television set, a kitchen complete with a kettle and a coffee pot, and from what Karen can see of the next room, there’s an actual bed in the other room. Stepping around the corner for a moment, she can see a small bathroom, as well as a closed closet. 

Frank sets down the duffle bag on the ground, as Karen walks backwards a few steps, and she turns to face him. Overestimating the distance between then, she’s forced to look up slightly, and she can just barely feel the heat radiating from beneath his overcoat and jeans.

“I’m going to get supplies. Don’t stand too close to the windows, but the water should be on,” he says, eyes intent on her face. She looks up at him, and again, there’s the feeling of being watched, but now that she knows the source, has him standing right in front of her, right now, she can’t drag her eyes away from him. A few pieces of hair has grown slightly too long, curled slightly onto his forehead, and the stubble is getting close to beard territory. 

“Right,” she whispers, as an afterthought to his words. For the briefest second, his eyes flicker down, and she leans ever so slightly into his orbit, but then he takes a step back, bending down to take a small wad of cash out of the duffle. For a moment, she’s disappointed, but then reminders herself it’s Frank, he’s not in a good place, he’s not interested- all thoughts that have creeped into her mind during the many miles of driving. 

Karen turns as well, intending to make full use of the shower. She doesn’t catch Frank’s soft gaze as he watches her walk away, his hand curling slightly before he stuffs it into his pocket and forces himself out the door. 

\----------

Freshly showered, Karen wanders out into the small common room. She found an old tee-shirt in the closet, along with a pair of sweatpants, and lets her wet hair drape over her shoulder. Reaching into her purse, she takes out the gun that Frank gave her, stares at it, sets it down on the couch beside her. She finds her cell phone- dead, although Frank likely took out the sim card anyways- and takes that out, as well. She empties out the rest of her purse, methodically taking out any bits of paper, the one dead pen she somehow carried around, and puts everything, including the gun, back in the bag. 

Turning on the television, she’s waiting for the screen to load (it’s one of the old models, where the screen faintly hisses and crackles before a picture comes up) when she hears a rustle from outside, below the window. 

Instinct rushes into her blood, and she dives down, clutching her purse. She listens carefully, for gunfire, for anything- and it’s silent. Adrenaline spiked, she continues to listen, and there’s nothing- until she hears heavy footsteps come up the stairs. She breathes out, relieved, until she hears a second set of footsteps.

She forces the panic down in her throat and gets up, as quickly and as quietly as she can, and goes into the closet, closing the door behind her. A split second after she closes the door and locks it, there’s a bang, and the door hits the wall next to the closet. 

Putting a hand over her mouth, Karen tries not to breathe loudly, and keeps an eye between the light that spills in from the door. Two shadows pass over the door, apparently two men. One of them turns, close enough to the crack so that Karen can see a blonde streak of hair. The bartender. 

The other man, out of Karen’s view, spits on the ground. “Castle’s not one to hide. The car’s gone, he must have left.” There’s more rustling, and the sound of a zipper, and Karen realizes that the duffle bag was still out in the common room. Her hand creeps into her purse, touching the gun. 

The bartender keeps on moving towards the bedroom, and Karen sees the muzzle of a gun before he moves away. “There’s still fog on the shower. He must’ve just left-”

He stops talking, and Karen realizes that there’s another set of footsteps coming up the stairs. She realizes it’s Frank when there’s a loud gunshot, a groan, and she clasps her hand over her mouth, horrified.

The bartender swears, runs in front of the closet door again, and there’s a loud crash. “Fuck, did you kill him?” 

Karen’s pulse races for one horrifying moment, but before she can burst out of the closet, the other man answers. “No, just got him in the shoulder. Think he got knocked out?” 

“Fuck, man, but the boss said not to kill him.” 

“It’s Frank Castle, he can take some roughing up. Did you think that we’d get him back conscious?” 

The bartender gives a rough laugh, and there’s a dragging sound, and the footsteps recede back down the stairs. Karen holds her breath, picks up the gun, and opens the door cautiously.

Both men are gone, and all that’s left of Frank is a small pool of blood, faint against the dark blue carpet. They took the duffle bag as well. As she listens, a car starts somewhere below the window, then pulls out. 

Karen takes a deep breath, puts on her shoes, and exits the apartment. 

\-----------

Following the men had been ridiculously easy. In Frank’s car (which the men had left untouched), she had barely touched the wires together in the front panel, and the car had sprung to life beneath her hands. 

She knows where they are taking him.

With the purse on the seat next to her, the gun in her lap, she is careful to drive inconspicuously, until she gets onto the highway, heading south. Back to the city it is.

\------------


	3. Ma'am

It was all too easy to find Frank. 

Kicking down the door of the small apartment in Queens, Karen calmly picks up the gun and fires at the man sitting on the sofa. The bartender slumps, clutching his chest as blood wells in dark rivulets. The other man begins to raise his gun but Karen fires the gun again, this time hitting the sofa with a muted sound. 

Wide-eyed, he sets the gun down slowly. “Listen, lady, I don’t know what you want-” he stops talking as she takes a step forward, pressing the gun into his head.

“Where is Frank Castle,” Karen asks, her grip on the gun firm. “I won’t ask twice.” 

The man begins to make a motion towards the room behind him, and Karen hits him hard enough in the face for an audible crunching sound, and he collapses next to the bartender. 

Karen steps over his body and makes it to the other room, and the sight of Frank, bloody and disheveled but alive makes her hand shake barely. She rushes over to him, tied in a chair, as his eyes blink open, then widen, taking her in. She unties his gag, first, and then moves to the handcuffs around his hands. 

Frank spits out the last piece of fiber from the makeshift gag. “Page, I could’ve-” but he’s silenced as Karen shakily puts her hands on either side of his face and leans in, their mouths meeting in a thrilling moment. 

His lips are surprisingly soft, and for one moment, he’s frozen, his mouth going slack, but as Karen takes his lower lip softly between her own, his mouth curves up slightly. She kisses him softly, and even though there’s blood in his mouth and her hands are still shaking, catching up to what exactly she’s done to get up to this moment, his tongue traces the line of her mouth and she can’t help but sigh, her hands coming to curl behind his ears. 

He pushes his head back, still so close to her face, and his voice is soft as he looks into her eyes. “I-” 

Then a gunshot rings out, and Karen slumps over him, her head knocking into his jaw, and Frank’s heart stutters, before pure rage floods his senses. His mouth opens without any control, and he screams. 

\---------------

In retrospect, Karen should have probably shot the other man in the face.

She should have told Frank how she felt.

She didn’t feel the bullet enter her back, but she certainly heard it, and then she heard Frank scream, an agonizing sound that was far worse than any pain of being shot. 

Soon after hearing the gunshot, Karen remembers bits and pieces. Falling the ground, her face against the linoleum. Her chest felt tight, and she could only breathe in short gasps, and tasted blood. Then she was moved over, and her eyes fluttered shut. 

She should have told Frank how she felt.  
\-------------  
She’s back in the high-end appliance store, and her mother is pushing the cart, and her brother runs off into the store, and Karen is staring at the shelf of wine glasses. 

She’s reaching out, touching one of the clear goblets, the light refracting off them and casting colorful rays onto the wall behind the shelf. Her sleeve gets caught on the stem, and she tries to fix her error, but the glass starts to tumble, and like before, she watches the rim slip and slide off the shelf, and shatter on the ground in front of her.

Then Frank Castle is next to her, and he kneels down, picking up a shard of glass, and she watches as he puts the small pieces of glass back onto the shelf, the pieces a small pile, and she tries to tell him that it’s broken, but her mom’s not coming back with her wallet to chide Karen this time. And Karen is grown, now, looking Frank Castle in the eye, and he takes her hand and leads her to the front of the store. Karen follows him, and opens the door-

 

\-------------

What Karen doesn’t expect is to wake up in a hospital, the light in the room dimmed slightly. She probably should have predicted the handcuffs on her wrists, chaining her to the hospital bed, and in her side a dull ache. 

The door opens, and she struggles to raise her head or eyes to see whoever entered the room. A nurse enters, her mouth a firm line, and shines a flashlight into Karen’s eyes, prompting sudden nausea. 

“You’re in Mount Sinai, Ms. Page. You’ve been shot, but you’re going to make a full recovery. We’re sorry for the handcuffs, but the detectives outside were insistent. They’ll be coming in once you’re able to sit up,” she says, in a monotone voice.

Karen closes her eyes. Frank. 

\---------

When she opens her eyes again, it must be during the day, and this time the small window, high up on the wall is open. To her surprise, Foggy is sitting there, in a small chair nearby her bed, fast asleep. Beside him, leaning against the wall, is Matt. He must hear that she’s awake, and he steps over to her bedside. “Karen?”

Her mouth feels dry, her tongue thick in her mouth, but she rasps out, “Matt.” 

The man sags slightly, relief in his expression. “Karen, we’ve been worried. You’ve been shot, and-”  
 Karen interrupts him, “I know. Have you seen Frank?”   
His eyebrows rise above his glasses. “Frank? Frank Castle? No, I haven’t seen him. Why would you ask?” 

Karen is steady in her response. “He brought me here. I was shot by one of Bullseye’s men.” 

Matt reels slightly, she can tell, but before he asks her anything else, Foggy wakes up, and stumbles to his feet. “Karen!”

She allows the corner of her mouth to turn up. “Foggy, I’m all right.” 

“All right? You were shot, Karen, that is the opposite of all right-” 

Matt bumps into his shoulder, silencing him. “Karen, we really need to talk. The detectives say you shot Bullseye a few days ago.” 

Karen considers lying, but realizes that lying will get her nowhere. “I did. I know I haven’t reached out, Matt, but I need you and Foggy.” 

Foggy gives a scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous, Karen, of course I’m going to defend you, and Matt’s- well, he’s going to do what he does. We’re going to say self-defense, or, you’ve been set up-”

She interrupts him again. “Foggy, I know how this goes. Just let me ask you, have you seen Frank Castle?” 

Foggy’s eyebrows raise much like Matt’s did previously. “You mean the Punisher? Why would I see him?” 

Matt begins to speak again, but then there’s a knock and the door opens, revealing a grim-faced police officer. “Ms. Page, we need to talk.”

\---------

After Foggy has argued the officer out of Karen’s hospital room, walking out with him, Matt is left alone in the room with her. “Karen, I- I’m sorry how this ended up. Us, I mean.” 

Karen faintly smiles. “Matt, I think we both knew it was never going to work out.” She can be honest with him now, she realizes, and it’s like a sudden resolution, a piece of a puzzle piece that clicks into place. 

His hands move quickly over the rail at the side of her bed. “Do you really think that?” His voice is quiet.

Karen bites her lip. “Matt, you know, you know I’ll always love you. But I’m not who you want me to be, and I think you and I have always known that.”

The man is quiet, contemplative, and Karen watches his jaw work before he speaks. “But you’re in love with Castle, aren’t you.” 

The words, finally said out loud, send her reeling, but she maintains her composure. “Stay safe, Matt.” 

The light hits off of his sunglasses, and he smiles, somewhat sadly. “You too, Karen.” 

\--------

Afterwards, Karen is informed of her pending charges- third degree murder, criminal possession of a firearm- and she is updated on her condition. The nurses are wary of her handcuffs, and the doctor stays a good distance away when she tells Karen that she is expected to make a full recovery, but will need to take antibiotics until the wound fully heals. 

She is finally left alone that night, the beep of the EKG machine the only sound other than her breathing. 

She eventually drifts to sleep, only to be woken up when another nurse enters the room below her field of vision. She closes her eyes, again, but pauses when the nurse stops beside of her bed, and jolts up when the nurse touches her wrist carefully. 

Her eyes snap open, and she is greeted by Frank Castle putting a finger up to his lips, wearing dark blue scrubs that stretched over his chest. Karen’s heart beats faster, and Frank is quick to finally open the handcuffs with a key from his pocket. 

Karen sits up, wincing at her ribs, but can’t help the smile that forms on her face. “Frank, what are you-” She’s interrupted as Frank wraps his arms around her, pressing her face into his neck, still silent. She hugs him back, breathing in his faint smell of drugstore deodorant and pine needles. 

His voice is hoarse, and it’s the best goddamn thing she’s heard in her entire life. “I’m here, shh. I’m getting you out of here.” 

She draws back, carefully sliding the IV needle out of her arm, and wincing as she does it. Frank carefully disconnects the sensors attached to her, his fingers ghosting over her skin as he does, and she can’t help but shiver. 

As he helps her out of the bed, handing her clothes to change into, he rummages in the cabinet of the room, selecting bottles and throwing them into bag. “I know they said you needed antibiotics, but anything else?” 

Karen looks at him for a moment, then steps across the room to press her mouth on the corner of his lips. This time, he is quick to respond, and brings a hand to the back of her head, pushing up her hair briefly before turning away. “Quit distracting me, Page, we still have to break you out of here.” 

\--------

The actual breakout is rather anticlimactic, as Karen was a low flight risk, and Frank had broken out of actual prison before. He knocks two police officers unconscious, and just has to glower at a nurse who dares to pause as he pushes Karen through the halls in a wheelchair. 

By the time they reach the car, parked in the middle of an ambulance spot (which Karen rolls her eyes at), Frank takes off the top of his scrubs and helps her into the passenger seat. “I’ll have you know, ma’am, I don’t break just anyone out of hospitals anymore”, he drawls. 

Karen chuckles, slowly pulling on her seatbelt as much as her side lets her. “Are you making jokes now, Mr. Castle? I’ll say this is the best mood I’ve ever seen you in.” 

Frank starts the car, and his eyes remain on the road as he pulls out of the ambulance spot as he says, “Well, I couldn’t just let my girl go to prison, after all.” 

As juvenile as it is, Karen can’t help but feel warm butterflies flutter in her stomach. She puts her head back in the carseat, feels the breeze in her hair, and smiles. 

\--------

To her surprise, they drive into Brooklyn, where Frank parks the car in a small, forgotten-looking lot overrun with weeds and helps her out of the car. They walk a block or two, Frank’s arm firm around her waist as she limbs along, until they turn to a small house, with an actual stoop and plants on the outdoor window sill.

Frank helps her up the steps, even opening the door for her. He says nothing as she takes a look around the room, then turns to face him, touching his hand. “Frank, I-” 

To her surprise, there’s an expression of discomfort on his face, and something in her stomach drops. Frank shifts his weight from one foot, his dark eyes searching her face. “I meant what I said.” 

She tilts her head up at him. “And what exactly was that?” 

“That you’re my girl. If you want. It’s a goddamn terrible idea, I mean, you know my baggage, and I’ll still be going out to hunt down people, and I’ll leave gun oil everywhere-” 

Karen interrupts him. “Frank, who was it that said that you should hold onto this sort of love with both hands?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, the closest to a nervous tic that he would ever have. “Page, I’m not kidding. I’m fucked up, I can’t give you what you deserve-” 

“I’m in love with you. I’m not going anywhere. You have your fucked up, and I have mine. I love you,” the words come out of her mouth, almost by instinct, and Karen looks intently at him, making sure that there was no going back now. 

Frank takes two steps forward, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he cradled her face, and kissed her. She sighed into his mouth, arms on his shoulders, and he led her into the next room, a small bedroom. 

He sits on the bed, and she climbs into his lap. Frank groans. “Karen,” he says, staring up at her with blown eyes. 

Karen slips her hands under his shirt at his waist, feeling hard flesh under her hands, and touches her nose to his. “I want this,” she says, moving her hands higher until his shirt rises up. “I want you. With your terrible music, your gun oil, your shit.” 

He kisses her then, urgent, and their teeth clack together and her nose is somewhat smushed on his cheek, but it’s the best goddamn kiss of her life. She gives a soft moan as his hands slip beneath her shirt, cautiously skimming over the bandages that line part of her back and her side, and his fingers run down the length of her spine. 

Karen’s hips grind down on his lap, and he also gives a hoarse moan, weaving his hands in her blonde hair, forcing her head back slightly so that he can lay a kiss on the base of her neck. She grinds down again, and then again, and he’s hard beneath her, and Karen’s never felt more turned on in her life.

Carefully, mindful of her wounds, Frank flips them so that he’s above her, his nose at the gap between her collarbones. He kisses a bruise here, pushing her shirt off and above her head. She’s not wearing a bra, and he lays kisses around the bottom of her breasts, near her nipples, nuzzling the gap between her breasts as she arches her back towards him. 

Moving down, Frank’s hot, wet mouth finds her stomach, where he reverently lays kisses on her stomach. His hands come between her legs, wrapping around so that his hands are firmly grabbing her ass. Karen’s just about ready to beg him, to stop teasing her, when he looks up suddenly, with a sort of urgency. “I prayed for you.”

Karen lifts her head from the bedspread, waiting for him to speak first. 

Frank studies a birthmark besides her belly button. “My parents- they were Catholic. And God knows I’ve never been a religious men, but when they first took you into the operating room- I prayed. Because whatever it is, whatever higher power or sheer chance that I met you, I didn’t want to risk it. By someone taking you away from me.” 

Karen’s hand finds its way into the back of his hair, through the short hairs on the top of his neck, and cards through it softly. “Frank, I’m not going to leave. I’m here.” 

As if in response, Frank’s eyes close, and he lays another kiss on her hipbone. Sliding her pants and underwear off, he kisses the insides of her thighs, licking his way around before his mouth zeros in on her clit. 

She gives another, louder moan, her heels coming to trap his head between her thighs. “Oh- oh, Frank, God, yes-” and her response spurs him, and he sucks and licks at her, and his mouth is hot, and she’s grinding against his face, until she comes with a cry, her heels digging into the meaty part of his shoulders. 

Frank’s pupils are blown when he looks up at her, and Karen pulls him up to kiss her, tasting herself on his tongue, and flips them again so she’s straddling his lap once more. The edge of her desire has been softened by that orgasm, but she needs him inside of her. 

Frank helps her take his scrub bottoms off, his eyes squeezing shut as she wraps a hand around his erection. Unlike her, Frank is quiet, biting his lip and burying his face in the crook of her neck as she works him up and down. Only when her thumb gently rubs against the head of his cock does his hips jolt, and he desperately kisses her again. 

Karen breaks their kiss and puts her hands in his hair, his face pressed to her chest. He holds his cock as she slides down onto him, and his eyes open and he looks up at her with the reverence of a holy man in a church. 

She moves up and down, slowly at first, as they learn the angles of the other’s bodies, and when Frank gives an experimental thrust up, pulling her closer, she gasps, his name quiet on her lips. They move together, his hands grasping at her sweaty hips, grabbing and pulling her closer and closer, until she gives a shout, coming for the second time. 

His orgasm is quiet and powerful, as he slams his hips up into her, a rapid motion of his hips until he grinds inside of her, coming and coming. 

Karen relaxes on top of him, tracing his lips with her finger. “Frank.” 

Frank’s eyes are half-closed, his face pressed into her collarbone, as he looks up at her. “Ma’am.” 

And they remained there, sated and close, until Frank pulled a blanket over the two of them, and fell asleep with his ear pressed to her chest, listening to her heart beat. And Karen traced the lines of his shoulders, his jaw, his eyes, until she fell asleep with her hand clasped in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i'm such trash. let me know what you guys think)


End file.
